“A well-composed book is a magic carpet on which we are wafted to a world that we cannot enter in any other way.” ~ Caroline Gordon
As a kid, my reading choices always held magic or some supernatural element. Then there
was a time in my life when I only read classics, and come to think of it, some of those had a supernatural or magical twist too – Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, In a Glass Darkly, even Wuthering Heights – and now I’m reading mostly magical books categorized as YA . (I’ll read more grown-up books soon, I promise). And this is why I don’t think I could write a book of any other kind. At least not any time soon.
My Work In Progress is a story that I think I would have wanted to read when I was a kid, and maybe even one that I would want to read now, since I seem to be rather addicted to YA Fantasy Fiction. I wrote a story with magic and monsters, demons and witches, but it’s also about the choice between embracing or rejecting who we’ve become as a person. It’s a story of identity and fear.
Fear of who or what we are. This is a recurring theme in a lot of fiction. Why? Maybe it’s because we’re all a little bit afraid of who we are underneath. Can we ever really know what we would do, if forced to make the dramatic choices featured in so many stories? Underneath all the posturing, the rhetoric, the words, the thoughts, when it comes down to it, are we as righteous as we think we are? Would we make the right choice and for the right reasons? We can imagine that we would, but what if something just snapped, and our only instinct was for survival? What if something that had been boiling beneath our skin our whole lives, unseen and unheard, came alive in that moment, and we realized, maybe a small part of us hoped to be pushed over the edge, to have an excuse to be something less than human.
Or maybe that’s just it. Maybe there’s nothing honourable in being human. After all, as a species, we do seem to have a ridiculous, murderous need to drive us all in to extinction. It’s human nature, so they say.
And I believe it’s this paradox that drives many a story, including my own. Dread of the “monster” inside. Fear that we’re something less than human; fear that we’re nothing more. My favourite stories tend to explore the theme of fear and identity, and so it makes sense that I would be compelled to explore it in my own.